"You don't get it. It's the newest fas.h.i.+on. The n.o.bility call it winter, and I hear it's spread all across the empire." One of the guys in his company joked. Killari had always been too brash for Alca's taste, even though they had grown up on the same street, and worked together for years.

Except for Alca, Killari's stupid joke tickled a laugh out of everyone in the hut. After all, here in the absolute nothingness of Medala's countryside, this sort of nonsense was the only form of proper entertainment they had. Well, that and the gambling, of course.

"Rather than play around, you better keep your head sharp, Killari," Lieutenant Alca said, though he only earned a sneer from his friend and subordinate. "Don't forget, we're here to fulfill our orders, not to joke around."

On direct order of the great King Corcopaca, their small ten-man team had been stationed in the north-eastern corner of the king's freshly occupied territory almost a full month ago. Together with many other companies just like them, they were spread over the villages along the eastern border, to control the occupied commoners and act as scouts, as well as the first line of defense.

Although their time had been filled with nothing but boredom so far, some day soon the peac.o.c.k king Pachacutec would send his own troops towards them. Until the rest of the king's army arrived, Alca and his company were tasked to hold off the enemy and keep their supply lines blocked off.

"What orders? Bullc.r.a.p," a frustrated Killari murmured. "Nothing's gonna happen anyways. We've been here for a month and all we've done is freeze off our fingers. Maybe that other king is scared, so he won't come anyways. So what's the harm in us relaxing a bit? Aren't you sick of always being so stuck-up?"

In truth, his friend wasn't wrong. Back when they had left the camp on a journey of conquest, Alca had also expected something else from their mission, something more... heroic. When he and Killari had spent their days on the marketplace in search of an employer for the day, they would always hear the old beggar in the corner, who would tell stories for coin.

His tales had always been those of brave warriors, their days filled with honorable battles, great banquets and beautiful maidens. Sometimes, they would even slay a legendary beast and become true heroes of the people. So far, all Alca's company had seen on their quest were dilapidated farming villages and more snow than they cared for.

Even though he was right, Killari's att.i.tude was a problem. Just because they were old friends didn't give him the right to talk like that to his superior. With narrowed eyes, Alca turned to the soldier to put him back in his place.

"Don't think you can do whatever you want just because the sergeants aren't around. Aren't you trying to make me look weak in front of the other men? Maybe you're not happy that you weren't put in charge of our company, but since the sergeant made me company leader, it's not your place to decide. Keep talking like that and I have to take you in out for mouthing off."

"What company leader?" Killari scoffed and put his bowl of bland soup on the floor; they hadn't been graced with a table in their temporary shelter. "Aren't you just a good boy who follows all the orders? Why else would they pick you over me?"

Across the table, his other subordinates snickered. They seemed to consider all of this a riot, and a welcome diversion from the freezing boredom of their duties.

At once, Alca put strength into his legs, to get up and make his old friend understand just why he had been picked for the important role. Though in the end, he calmed down before he rose up. Now he was a lieutenant, no longer the drunken boy who would start a brawl in the tavern. He had to control himself.

"And that's why the commander didn't put you in charge. You got no discipline. They're not looking for the strongest, not if the strongest don't do as they're told. Following orders is the basics for any good soldier. I'm serious, if you don't learn your place and shut up soon, you might just end up like Sergeant Nahlen did."

As he spoke, the soldiers in the room calmed down, and the frivolous atmosphere disappeared. Even his loudmouth friend made a gloomy face and lowered his head. Nahlen had been very popular among the troops, so mere mention of his fate had sapped all the enthusiasm out of his men. After all, Nahlen had been the one to train them, the one to give them a future. Although the physical exercises in the camp were even harder than carrying logs off the southern s.h.i.+ps and corporal punishment was a daily ritual for new recruits, they had been nothing but commoners a mere two seasons ago.

At the time, they had been ordinary peons, living in Saniya hand to mouth, getting by with whatever work they could find for the day. Sure, some of the new recruits were bakers, some were fishermen and some were tailors. But most of them had been simple day laborers, like Alca and Killari. With Nahlen's help, they had all gone through a remarkable transformation in only a few short months.

Through their training, they had received the chance to rise up and become members of the prestigious warrior cla.s.s, true servants of their king, and true n.o.bility to boot. Although for now, they would still have to prove themselves in battle before the old n.o.bility would accept them as real warriors, their current status was still far more than any of them had ever dreamed of. And Nahlen's training had made all of it possible, right before he had been entrapped and killed.

"It's not right, you know?" Killari mumbled under his breath, after he had looked out of the window to make sure no-one outside of their company would listen in.

"Shh. Don't even think that, let alone say it!" a panicked Alca hissed at his friend. "If you make fun of me a bit it's still fine. All you'll get in return is some bamboo whips and some time in the hole. But if you dare question the king's actions..." His sentence trailed off as he didn't even dare speak of the true reasons for his fear.

Frustrated, Killari kicked away the rest of his cold soup.

"d.a.m.n... I'm not questioning the king and you know it d.a.m.n well!"

Of course Alca knew what his old friend had really implied. Although they were former commoners and didn't really understand the details of n.o.ble politics, word had still spread. It seemed like Nahlen's troops had caused a lot of trouble during their requisitions, overstepped their boundaries and ignored orders. As a result, their great king had been left with no choice but to order their executions. However, word on the wind was that the beautiful n.o.ble lady who followed the king around was a witch in disguise, an evil monster who had planned Nahlen's murder from the start.

Since Alca no longer replied, half from fear and half from frustration, Killari only snorted and returned to his own broodings. Silence was better. Like this, no accidents would happen.

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Some said the witch had been jealous of the attention Commander Nahlen had received from the king, that she was in love and wanted the king's gaze all for herself. Others argued that she had read the future in the bones of snakes and seen Nahlen betray their lands. Whatever the case, her ruthless and insidious ploys had caused her name to be spoken all over the camp grounds.

As the word of her monstrous actions spread, her name would only appear in hushed voices. Soon after, it had disappeared outright. They all feared that one of the witch's many secret informants would listen in. They all feared that one day, they might not wake up, their life taken under mysterious circ.u.mstances. Alca wasn't really sure if any of the rumors were true, and maybe they were exaggerated, but he wasn't willing to risk his new-found future on mere chance.

Rather than think about grand issues a lowly man shouldn't consider, he picked up his weapon and a piece of cloth, and cleaned it for the hundredth time since their arrival. Invaded by the cold, his fingers trembled as they touched the headstock of this hand cannon. 'Flintlock,' Nahlen had called this weapon. Apparently it was one of the newer models. Since their company was part of the third batch of soldiers to be trained out of Saniya, they had received it in favor of the old ones.

Throughout training, their instructors had told them about the amazing power of this great new weapon, and how lucky they were to wield it. Alca hadn't really understood much, he just knew that a flame would catapult a piece of lead into his enemy's heart if he handled it right. In his training, the lieutenant had already felt the ma.s.sive power of his weapon, but it still didn't fill him with confidence. Every time he saw it, he was reminded of the enemies they would have to face, with nothing but this piece of wood and steel in hand.

Despite all the training, he was just a mortal, no matter how much he would love to believe otherwise. The n.o.bles, be they lords or warriors, were cultivators, beyond people like him. Could a mortal really kill a n.o.ble? Could they aspire to rise up beyond their stead, break with old traditions? Wouldn't heaven and earth deign to punish them? As his thoughts wandered through his fears, his hands began to tremble from more than just the cold.

This flintlock was his only repose. At least the musket was an invention from a n.o.ble. There were rumors that King Corcopaca himself had invented the design, though others claimed that it had been the foreign doctor who spent all his days in Saniya's new 'laboratory'. To Alca, it was laughable gossip, no more. How could a doctor invent a weapon? Thus, the only possible inventor was the king himself, first son of the emperor and the highest of high n.o.bility. Yes, this was a n.o.ble weapon, unlike the axes of his enemies, which were made from only cold steel, forged by common blacksmiths. A commoner with a n.o.ble's weapon against a n.o.ble with a commoner's weapon. At the thought, the tremble in his fingers eased. Maybe their chances weren't as poor as he had first thought.

While he, and his entire team, had sunk into bleak thought, they hadn't realized a man rush up to them.

"Lieutenant! There's trouble! Someone's coming towards the village!" When he heard the panicked voice, Alca was shocked awake. He knew that always slovenly man who ran towards them. He was one of his company and had been stationed on the walls as a lookout.

Soon, his subordinate stood in the entrance of their little hut, out of breath and out of courage. "Lieutenant! Please come quick!"

"What's going on?" he frowned and asked in a firm voice, but his chest tightened from fear. Had the enemy reached them? Why was there no word from the front line? What happened to the witch's scouts? Had they been wiped out?

"Several troops from the neighboring villages have come over together! They're flying the banners too!"

With a worried frown, Alca's fingers tightened around his flintlock once again.

"Looks like something big is about to happen. Let's get ready to greet our fellow warriors."

__________________________

Not long after, Alca stood in front of another eight Lieutenants, together with their teams. In their front was their ensign, the man responsible for their entire hundred man platoon.

"Lieutenant Alca, I will present your orders." According to regulations, such a message would have to be given in writing, but Alca could write just as well as most everyone else in the army, which meant he was proud that he could spell his own name. Of course there were many educated people in Saniya, but few of them were desperate or ambitious enough to join the army, no matter how much they might be tempted by the chance to become warriors. Rather than step up themselves to defend their wealth, those clever masters had decided to let the poor and downtrodden take the plunge. Once some of the lowest had proven themselves in battle, they would see whether or not the king would keep the promises he had made to his army and then follow suit.

"Understood!" Alca replied in a snappy voice.

"An advanced raiding party of the enemy is on its way to your village. Their goal is to take back the land they have lost and to probe our strength. We have been tasked to reunite our teams into a platoon and hold them here, at least until we receive further notice."

Even though he should have known better, Alca's commander still held out a piece of fine paper, sealed with expensive wax. Maybe this letter alone was worth more than the clothes Alca would wear at home, but this ensign had handed it to him without any fuss. This man should be one of the rare examples of a craftsman who had decided to fight with them. To Alca, his ensign's casual att.i.tude was an inspiration, a real educated man with real backbone. Though of course, none of this mattered. As the implication of his orders sank in, there was only one thought left in Alca's head.

"Troop leader, what will happen now?" he asked, and hid his fearful tremble within the cold around them.

"Now," his commander answered in a grim voice, "We will have to fight for our lives. For us, the war has begun."